


A Dangerous Game

by MovesLikeBucky



Series: Ineffable Outliers Weekly Prompts [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, cuz it's a crack!fic, this fic isn't going the direction you think it's gonna go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 02:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20613551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: Crowley had never wanted to come back here.  Not to Hell.  Not to the worst meeting room imaginable, with the barely functioning projector, the squeaky chairs, the ever-present drip of the leaky pipes into various cups, buckets, and other receptacles, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering just out of sync.  These were the true torture of Hell, the low grade white noise that was a part of life down here.No this was decidedly not where he wanted to spend his day.  Not that he had a choice in the matter.





	A Dangerous Game

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt fill for Ineffable Outliers! This one is really short because I have lots of homework this week OTL
> 
> The prompt is listed at the end because I don't wanna spoil the surprise twist ;)
> 
> There's a bit with Hastur and a maggot in his mouth so be warned if that's the kind of thing that makes you queasy.

Tension in the small office room was palpable, as was the stench of rotting flesh and decay.

Crowley had never wanted to come back here. Not to Hell. Not to the worst meeting room imaginable, with the barely functioning projector, the squeaky chairs, the ever-present drip of the leaky pipes into various cups, buckets, and other receptacles, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering just out of sync. These were the true torture of Hell, the low grade white noise that was a part of life down here. 

No this was decidedly _not _where he wanted to spend his day. Not that he had a choice in the matter.

“Demon Crowley, you will anzzwer the quezztion,” good old Beelzebub, crown prince of Hell. They’d summoned him here, for this interrogation game.

“What if I don’t, buzzbrain?” Crowley leaned back on his bravado, as always. He’d bluffed his way out of worse. As far as Hell knew, he was untouchable. 

“Then I am not liable for what any of the other demonzzz might do to you.” The hordes were milling around menacingly as they were wont to do, not that any of them scared Crowley in the slightest. A bunch of two-bit lackeys at best. Only people with any modicum of talent in Hell were the Dukes and higher, and even then that was only on a good day.

“As though anyone could do anything worse to me than being here in the first place,” Crowley looked down to the table in front of him, filled with its own sharp and flat torture devices. He hated games like this. Games where they wanted you to _talk_. Hell was a liar’s domain, interrogation was a sum of truths. The two were, fundamentally, incompatible. “Which circle is this again?”

“Just because you survived the holy water,” Dagon said in their water-dripped voice. They always gave a vague impression of drowning when they spoke, “Doesn’t mean you’ll survive other things we might do.”

Crowley made a mocking gesture with his hand while he mouthed back the words Dagon just said to him. He’d had a date with his angel, rudely interrupted by the summons, and now he was being questioned.

“Tell uzzz. The anzzzwer. And we _might _let you leave.” Beelzebub was becoming more agitated, and more on edge. This was right where Crowley wanted them to be. The more agitated Beelzebub got, the quicker this would be over. 

After all, Hell had no imagination. Just bubbling anger and fury with nowhere to go.

“Tell me, Beelzy, old friend,” Crowley tapped his long black fingernails on the table, the clicking echoing through the cement room, “What _exactly _is stopping me from walking out the door right now.”

“A whole army of angry demons,” Hastur grinned as a maggot wove between his teeth. Crowley held back the urge to vomit, “Who’d like to get their pound of flesh.”

“Hastur, please, have you _ever _heard of this great thing called a shower? Humans invented it, bloody brilliant thing that. Should look into it,” he tapped his nails louder and leaned the old metal chair back on two legs. Add the sound of squeaking metal to the cacophony of everything else around. He could see the telltale signs of annoyance on the faces of his opponents. The edge of a knife, just waiting to tip over, “I can smell you from over here. Maybe a toothbrush while you’re at it.”

Beelzebub bangs their fists on the table, “Anzzwer the quezztion, traitor, or we _will _be forced to take extreme measurezz!”

Crowley just smirked at them, “Like what, oh ‘Great and Powerful Prince of Hell’? Lost your trump card already! Over a year ago now, was it?”

Beelzebub lunges across the table, placing their hand around Crowley’s throat, nearly knocking his chair back.

“Tell. Me. The. Truth.” Beelzebub sank their short nails as deep as they could into Crowley’s throat. Not that demons needed to breathe, but the effect was still the same.

“Well,” Crowley chokes out, “If you insssissst. I don’t have any threes.”

Beelzebub’s face falls as their grip loosens. 

“Go fish.” Crowley smirks as chaos descends into the denizens of Hell around him.

He still wasn’t sure why the annual game night was a thing in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> This week's prompt was the hilarious "Hell has a family game night; it goes about as well as you'd expect."
> 
> I wanted to play around with fake-outs, hopefully it comes across pretty well.


End file.
